Something New

by Jane Davitt

Blair walked into the hotel room, his tuxedo immaculate, his hair wild, his expression harried.

"What now?" Jim asked, fighting to hold back a smile as he knotted his tie. Watching Blair deal with assorted crises, his early calm shredding as the morning passed, was proving to be more entertaining than he'd expected

Blair sighed dramatically. "You know that rhyme? Something old, something new?"

"Something borrowed, something blue," Jim supplied. "Sure. So?"

"Christy can't find something old and she's just --" Blair waved his hands in the air, sketching out an explosion. "Freaking. Man, is she freaking. I told her anthropologically speaking, it was a Victorian tradition and totally not relevant in the twenty-first century and she threw a hairbrush at me. Is she allowed to do that? I mean, I am her --"

Jim held up his hand before Blair could work himself up into an explosion of his own. The past few months leading up to the wedding had been a strain on everyone. "You're way behind, Chief. Simon already found a 1953 penny in his pocket and she's using that because it's the year her mom was born."

"Oh thank God." Blair sat on the edge of the bed and looked up at Jim, his smile weak. "I'm taking this too seriously, aren't I?"

"Weddings are serious business," Jim replied, secure in the knowledge that his duties consisted of nothing more than proposing a toast or two and getting drunk enough to dance like no one was watching. "Cheer up; it'll be over soon."

"Yeah…" Blair looked up at him. "They change everything, don't they?"

Jim had felt this way going into battle; a calm despair and certainty that his life was measured in moments, not years. It hadn't been an idle question; Blair was gazing at him with a painful expectancy. "They can. If you let them."

"I don't… I don’t know if I want some things to change," Blair said haltingly. "But other stuff… maybe?"

Crunch time. Jim walked over to the scatter of coins on the small table in the corner, removed from the pocket of his jeans the night before because if he didn't, they fell out when he got dressed again and he hated that. He struck out on the pennies, but found what he wanted in the quarters.

"Jim?" Blair sounded curious. "What're you doing?"

Jim walked back and crouched down beside the bed. "I guess I'm skipping ahead."


Jim took Blair's hand and turned it palm up. "I couldn't find a '69 penny, for your birth year, but here's a '69 quarter. You're worth it."


He waited, but Blair just shook his head, tracing the shape of the coin with his finger.

"I don't have anything blue you can borrow, but if I did, it's yours, okay? I can't -- there's nothing I wouldn't let you have of mine if you wanted it, Blair."

Blair bit his lip. "You -- you forgot the something new?"

Jim leaned in and kissed him, Blair's lips warm and soft and welcoming.

"Yeah, that's new," Blair said, his hand rising to cup Jim's face and caress it. "You haven't kissed me all day, you know that?"

"You were too busy, babe." And Blair in a tux, smart and shiny, had made Jim want to drag him away to a quiet corner and get him messy, rumpled.

"And if I'm suddenly the bride not Daryl's best man, does that mean I get to freak now?"

Jim grinned. "Only if it doesn't involve throwing stuff at me."

Blair took a deep breath. "You mean this? You want to?"

Jim shrugged. "We are married every way it counts. Making it legal… well, I'm a cop; I'm all about following the law."

"There's no law saying you have to get married," Blair objected.

"Do you want to?" Jim asked patiently, giving Blair back his question.

Blair's fingers closed over the coin. "I do, man. I really do."

The second kiss was longer, flirty, dirty, Blair's tongue promising plenty. Jim let himself picture Blair bent over the counter in the bathroom, his jacket pushed up, his pants pulled down, the sweet, strong curve of his ass just waiting, and moaned helplessly.

"It's rented," Blair mumbled against Jim's throat, clearly two steps ahead of him. "Forget it."

Jim was about to propose taking the damn thing off Blair altogether -- formal wear got him hot, sure, but Blair naked was a classic that always worked -- when Simon burst in.

"Blair -- oh for God's sake, you two are worse than Daryl and Christy -- the ring, Blair, where's the ring?"

Blair wiped his mouth dry and patted his jacket pocket. "Right here, Simon." His smug expression froze. "Oh God. Oh, God --"

"We're eloping, Sandburg," Jim hissed into Blair's ear. "You got that? No way are we doing this when it's our turn."

"Find the ring and you can do me right after the ceremony and I'll keep the tux on," Blair hissed back.

Jim smiled, his eye already catching a glint of gold on the carpet by the bed.

Piece of cake.

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